Alpha’s Desire: 6 (Bad Boy Alphas)

Jared

Three months I’ve been hard for this human.

I know, woe is me, right? Try telling that to my cock when she’s up on that box in her miniscule shorts doing her little go-go dance for all the patrons of my Alpha’s nightclub.

Angelina. The red-headed dynamo who single-handedly transformed Eclipse into the happening place in Tucson on Saturday nights.

And right now some asshole just put his hands on her thighs.

I shove my way through the nightclub, ready to pound skulls. Lucky for me—unlucky for the handsy asshole—that’s my job.

Heat comes off the crowd in waves. The music thumps. The clubbers part to make room for my hulking frame. I carry two hundred and twenty pounds of solid, tattooed muscle. Not many try to mess with me or any of the other bouncers at Eclipse.

We don’t even have to pull out our shifter strength to show force.

Garrett doesn’t appreciate his bouncers getting overly aggressive, but dialing it back is an impossibility for me when I see Angelina’s annoyance at Handsy’s unrelenting come-on.

I shove my body between him and Angelina’s go-go box and fold my arms over my chest, mostly to keep me from closing my fist around his fragile human neck.

“Whoa, whoa!” He throws his offending palms up with an affronted air, like I’m overreacting.

“Hands off the dancers. You do it again, you’re eighty-sixed.”

“O-kay. Jeez. I was just saying hello.”

“You want to argue with me?” I challenge. Of course I’m pretty much dying for him to say yes, because wiping that attitude off his face would almost be as satisfying as receiving the grateful look Angelina’s sending my way.

Come on into the storeroom after closing and I’ll let you thank me properly.

I wish. Not that she hasn’t given me the signals. Not that I haven’t fucked at least a hundred human girls in that storeroom since Eclipse opened.

But I’m a little too hot for her.

And humans are off-limits for relationships. At least they were before Garrett decided to mate one.

Besides, she’s totally out of my league.

Fresh-faced and passionate, she’s a dance major from the University. She couldn’t be more clean-cut and innocent.

Meanwhile, I’m motorcycles and tattoos.

And a shifter.

Definitely not the right guy for her. And if I fucked that hot little body? I’d ruin her for everyone else.

Not to sound conceited about my abilities, but I pay attention to what a girl likes. I’m over-the-top rough and dominant, but I never force, never harm. I just coax their surrender and show them the way of the wolf.

Trey calls it Jaredizing. Once a girl’s had a taste, she keeps coming back for more. And then I have to end things, feelings get hurt. Something Angelina never deserves.

Handsy backs away, smarter than he acted at first. “No, man. I’m not arguing. Sheesh.” He shakes his head as he turns and ducks away into the crowd.

I look up at Angelina. “You okay, baby?”

Fuck if she doesn’t run her fingers over my closely cropped hair, her wide smile revealing one deep dimple. “Thank you,” she shouts over the music. “You’re my knight in shining armor!”

The music shifts to Lady Gaga’s latest hit. Angelina jumps up and down, clearly thrilled with the DJ’s choice. “Woohoo!”

I stay, grinning up at her like an idiot, because this girl draws me like a magnet.

I see the glint of excitement in her eyes right before she launches herself at me. Straddling one shoulder, she pumps her fist in the air.

Holy Mother of God. My hand snaps up to her back to hold her in place as she fucking rocks her pelvis, dancing on my shoulder.

At least I think she’s dancing. My brain tells me that’s what this activity is, but my cock is certain she’s begging to be fucked. Especially considering her pussy is inches away from my face.

I sink my teeth into her inner thigh.

She screams and grips my head with both hands, which only makes my dick think she wants more.

Yeah, this isn’t going to work. If I don’t put her back down on that box now, my mouth is going to go to town on the little scrap of fabric standing between me and that sweet pussy of hers.

I duck down to lower my shoulder and reluctantly let her slide off, back to her perch. I can’t resist slapping that irresistible ass of hers before I turn and walk away.

I don’t look back—I can’t—but I’m satisfied knowing I left a good handprint on that bare flesh she’s been shaking for everyone tonight.

And seriously, I might have to tell her to come with her ass covered next week.

No. I can’t. Because:

A) The short shorts that only cover half a girl’s ass are in style. All the college girls are sporting them.

B) The go-go dancers and their delectable asses are part of why the club goes over-capacity every Saturday night. Garrett would not approve of me making changes to their costumes. Not that we have any artistic license over their act.

It’s Angelina’s show. Her brainchild, her proposal, her execution. She brought her crew of dancers and they make the place pop.

If only she didn’t leave me so blue-balled every time they performed.

Angelina

Oh, lordy.

Jared, the beefy bouncer with the tattoos and dark flirty manner has me all a-flutter. My butt stings where he smacked me and I don’t have to look to know he left a big, red print for all to see.

I have a feeling that was his intention.

Damn my fair, red-headed complexion, because the flush creeping up my neck and spreading across my face is probably visible for all to see.

I watch him disappear into the crowd, disappointed he doesn’t look back. The man is beautiful. A perfect specimen of raw masculinity. He’s rough-mannered and tattooed, but damn, he has enough charm to take all the edges off what might otherwise be an intimidating presence.

And wow, that little show of force with the guy who was bugging me?

Total turn-on. I’ve always had a thing for heroes.

I turn my head to catch the eyes of the other two dancers on shift tonight and the three of us go into a pre-arranged combination, changing from freestyle to synchronized movement.

Talya and Remy are both a little bit drunk, but we all know this routine so well we could do it in our sleep. Plus, professional or semi-professional dancers like us, with the amount of training in our bodies, can make anything look purposeful and choreographed.

The song ends and our set is over. We get the last hour to play—drinks on the house. That was the deal I worked out with the owner, another huge and quite intimidating man named Garrett Green. Fifty bucks each and free drinks in exchange for go-go dancing every Saturday night. Most of the girls on my makeshift dance team would do it just for the free cover and the attention they get up on those boxes.

Me? I don’t know why I do it. Not for the drinks—I don’t do well with alcohol. Just for the sheer joy of creation, I guess. It’s fun to insert real dance into everyday life.

Yes, I’m the type who loves musicals, where people suddenly break into song in public places. I’m the girl who rides her cart down the aisle in the grocery store, resisting an arabesque, choreographing a performance piece in my head for the shoppers I pass.

Don’t worry, I don’t actually execute it. Not that I wouldn’t, if I could talk other dancers into joining me.

I weave through the crowd, pretending I’m not looking for the sexy man-hunk, Jared. There. By the door to the back patio. I head to the bar because I don’t want to be too obvious. I don’t think he’s actually interested. I mean, I’ve given him the signal for weeks and although he gives me smoldering looks, he never actually asks for my number or suggests I hang out after hours.

Total disappointment.

I saddle up at the bar and order a tonic water with lime. It’s my stupid trick to make it appear I’m drinking a gin and tonic or vodka and soda, when really I’m just hydrating. My friends get their drinks and mingle and I pretend to play it cool. A guy comes over to me, but I’m not interested, so I give a polite smile and head to the bathroom.

When I get out, Jared stands there in the hallway.

“Come here, little girl.” He crooks a finger at me. I follow him through the staff-only door, into the storeroom, packed high with boxes of alcohol.

Damn, if a fraternity ever wanted a place to rob, this would be the jackpot.

My heart pounds, face heating even though I don’t know what he wants.

I mean, I know what I hope he wants.

And I shouldn’t hope for it.

From all accounts, Jared is a player. He hooks up with girls and never calls. That’s what everyone says, including his best buddy, the other bouncer, Trey. I’ve been warned off this guy, but I still can’t stop the thrills of excitement fluttering through my body.

Jared picks up one of my hands. Before I have any clue what he’s doing, he spins me around to face a wall and slaps it there. Then he picks up my other wrist and stacks it with the first, pinning both with one powerful palm.

My breath clogs my throat as his hand crashes down on my backside. Like before, he catches the underside of my butt, the bare part below my short shorts.

I gasp, but don’t protest, way too turned on to want it to stop.

He smacks the other cheek, just as hard. “That is for wearing shorts that make every guy in the building want to fuck this juicy ass.”

I’m pretty sure I stop breathing. I’ve never been spoken to in such a rough and dirty manner, but I’m definitely not complaining. My lady parts squeeze and swell, planning a party for whatever else Jared has to offer.

He spins me back around to face him. My butt hits the wall and I lose my breath on an exhale. His hand goes right to the notch between my legs and he cups my mons.

“And the next time you put this pussy so close to my mouth—” He undulates his hand, pressing over my shorts in tandem from clit to anus. I gasp and rise up on my toes. “—you’re going to find out just exactly what I’d like to do with it.”

A shiver of epic proportions runs through me. More like a shudder, only that sounds bad. And what I’m feeling is really freakin’ far from bad. My insides turn liquid, heat pours down my thighs, straight to the arches of my feet.

I now understand where the phrase he curls my toes comes from.

He slowly slides the firm contact of his fingers over the fabric just above my slit, which has completely dampened my panties. “Understand, beautiful?”

I swallow. “Yeah.” My pussy clenches.

His fingers delve under the crotch of my shorts, into my panties and I mewl.

“Baby, you wear these shorts to Eclipse again, I’m gonna take you back here and spank this juicy ass so red every guy watching you dance will know you’ve been claimed.”

He jerks his head back and shakes it, as if he’s surprised by what he just said, but his fingers glide, glide, glide over my slit. I moan softly, my gaze staying at the level of his chest.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he commands and I obey without thinking. Dancers are by nature obedient creatures. We’ve spent our lives molding our bodies and minds to do anything and everything a director or teacher asks of us. Any dancer who doesn’t gets weeded out fast. There are always ten more waiting to take your spot if you’re not willing to give five hundred percent.

He holds my gaze as he screws one finger into me.

I whimper, not out of pain, but out of need. I’m not a virgin but I’ve literally never been so turned on in my life. My nipples poke against the tight fabric of my shirt and my pussy is sopping.

I writhe against his hold on my wrists, grind down to take his finger deeper.

He leans his head down by mine, so we’re temple to temple. “You okay, angel?”

It’s a little late to be double-checking for my permission, but I appreciate the ask. “Yeah,” I breathe.

“Good.” He shifts and wedges a second finger inside me.

I buck my hips, rising up on my toes.

“You’re dancing for me now, aren’t you, baby?”

“Oh God,” I moan.

He’s worked both fingers deep inside me and now he stops moving. Just stops!

“Wh-what at are you doing?”

His grin is all shades of sexy. “Just making sure you really want it.”

I roll my hips. “I said I did.”

He pumps slowly. Too slowly. “Say it nicely. Tell me who you’re dancing for.”

“You. I’m dancing for you,” I cry, growing desperate for release.

“You want more of my fingers, angel?”

“Jared,” I pant.

His eyelids droop.

One part of me gets pissed. Is he making a fool of me here?

He must sense my resistance because he says, “Nah, fuck it. I should be begging you. I can’t wait to watch you go over the edge, beautiful.” He pumps his fingers in and out until my shimmying legs are ready to give out. “Come for me, Angelina. Show me what you’ve got.”

I have no idea what he means by that, but, again, my body follows his command. I give into his skilled torture. The moment my muscles start to squeeze his fingers, he shoves deep and waits, letting me tighten and ease in waves of pleasure and release.

“Aw, fuck, baby.” He leans his forehead against mine as he eases his fingers out. “That was even better than I imagined.”

I’m not sure what he means, since I’m the one who got off, but it still inspires a giddiness that revives me from the relaxation coursing through my muscles.

The doorknob rattles and Jared jerks away, releasing me and tugging down the hem of my shorts just before the door swings open.

One of the bartenders bustles in, then stops when he sees us, throwing us a curious look.

Jared steps in front of me, as if to shield me from scrutiny, and I appreciate the gesture, late though it may be.

“I’d better go find my friends,” I murmur. It’s not that I want to leave Jared. Wait—yes I do.

Embarrassment takes over, along with the realization that he’s probably brought dozens of girls back here. That’s why the bartender doesn’t seem surprised.

I push past Jared toward the door.

“Wait, angel. Just wait.” He catches me around the waist.

I go still but I don’t look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low so only I will hear. “I definitely didn’t mean to make you feel used or cheap.”

I’m not sure if that’s how I was feeling, but now that he’s named it, a sick feeling spreads through my belly.

“Hey, I really I have to go,” I insist.

Jared releases me. I sense his reluctance, even though I refuse to meet his eye. I just want to get out of there.

I’m the only one of my friends who didn’t drink tonight and I’m the one making the bad decisions.

“Just wait. Can you give me a second?”

I slip out of his reach. “That’s okay,” I mumble, without looking back. “We can talk later.” I bolt from the storeroom before he can say anything else. I sense him behind me, but I don’t look back, just beeline it for the bar to find my friends and get the hell out of here.

What was I thinking? Apparently all it takes is a couple slaps to my ass and I’ll let a guy to anything to me.

Damn. I need to tell my friends never to let me be alone with Jared. Ever. Especially not when I’m ovulating.

Danger zone.

I find Talya and Remy just as the overhead fluorescents come on, signaling the club is closing. The crowd gives a collective groan and people scurry out like cockroaches caught in the sun.

“Come on,” I urge my friends. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough.”

Jared

Iscrewed up. Big time.

I knew I was supposed to keep my hands off Angelina. She’s my female kryptonite. My self-control goes to shit around her.

Now I’ve gone and degraded her in the worst way.

It was almost worth it. Almost.

Fuck, I will be jacking off to the memory of her orgasm face every night for a week. It was even better than I pictured it would be.

I scan the crowd remaining, people who need encouragement to leave. Men and women trying to find or solidify their hookups before they go.

“Time’s up,” I call out. “Everybody out.”

I get fuck me looks from a couple girls who hang back.

I’m not tempted. Not really. But part of me thinks maybe I should fuck one of them just to get that red-headed beauty out of my system. Out of my fantasies. Damn she’s been the main feature of them ever since she showed up here at the beginning of the semester with her bold new idea for having go-go dancers.

Somehow, I’d even volunteered to make the boxes the dancers perch on.

A blonde, who’d been prettier in the low lighting than she is under the bright glare, toddles toward me on six inch heels.

I frown and give my head a short shake and she wheels about and teeters out the door instead. I shake my head again, more at myself than anyone else, and help get the rest of the crowd out. As I run the dust mop to pick up the litter of plastic cups, straws, and cocktail napkins, I try to think of something else—anything but the sweet curves of Angelina’s ass when she was dancing up on that box. Or the slight curl of her lip when I penetrated her. The way her mouth opened and eyes rolled back when she came.

I’m still replaying it all after we lock up.

“What’s with you, dude?” Trey asks as we walk to our parked motorcycles in the lot.

“Nothing.” I sound surlier than I mean to.

“Did something happen between you and that dancer?”

“Shut up, asshole.” Trey’s my best friend, but sometimes he doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone.

“Uh huh. I thought so. Damian said you were fucking her in the storeroom.”

I grab Trey’s collar and fist it up tight, getting my face right into his grill. “I was not fucking her.”

“Okay,” he says quickly, holding up his palms. “Whatever you say, bud.”

I know all I’ve done is dug my grave now, so I release him and jerk my chin toward his bike. “Go on. I’ll see you at home later.”

“Where are you going?” he asks suspiciously.

“For a ride.”

Trey shrugs and takes off. I wait until he’s gone before I straddle my bike, turning it on with a louder rev of the engine than is necessary.

I tear out of the parking lot. It’s almost three in the morning and no cars are left on the road. At least that’s what I tell myself. The truth is that I’m still back in that fucking storeroom, replaying the part that went south with Angelina.

That’s why I pull out of the alley without looking.

I don’t see the car coming. Not until I’m flying over it as glass shatters like a burst of confetti from a party balloon.